


Deprived.

by GameandWolf



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blood Play, Collars, Guns, Knife Play, M/M, Sensory Deprivation, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-26
Updated: 2012-04-01
Packaged: 2017-11-02 13:12:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/369340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GameandWolf/pseuds/GameandWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Jim under the influence of a drug that cuts off four of his five senses,  Sebastian takes an opportunity he knows he's never going to get again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Formerly titled 'Dark'

It’s one of those days where the weight of the idiocy of the world feels like its crashing down on his skull, pouring over his head and submerging him, leaving him choking and gasping like a drowning man. He wants to escape all of their inane nattering about their stupid, pointless lives, and just be alone in his own head, buried in numbers, equations, star charts, and theoretical physics without the white noise of the world pressing in.  
  
His solution is nicked from the labs that he funds who are developing new methods of torture, both physical and psychological. Jim ties the band snugly around his upper arm and presses the plunger of the syringe lightly, flicking it with his fingers and removing any air bubbles. The drug is designed for near total sensory deprivation. Shut down all of the senses, except for the one that lets you feel pain, no seeing where the next hit is coming from, no following the sound of movements, no way of sniffing out the scent of your opponent’s cologne so you can target him later, no taste to tell you if that’s saliva or blood filling your mouth. Nothing but the ability to feel every inch of your skin being tormented in agonizing clarity.  
  
Jim doesn’t need it for that, of course. For him, it’s just an escape from the world. Just a few hours of blissful _nothing_ but his own mind.  
  
He checks the barrel for air bubbles one more time, can’t be too careful, and presses the tip of the needle to the vein in the crook of his arm. He hisses quietly when the needle breaks the skin and presses in. The plunger is depressed slowly and the drug pours into his bloodstream. He tugs the needle out and tosses the syringe onto the bedside table before pulling the band from his arm. He’s got a few minutes before it starts to kick in and he’s got a few last preparations to take care.  
  
The lock on the door is checked again for the fifth time before Jim starts peeling himself out of his clothes. His skin is going to be hypersensitive and he doesn’t want the press of clothing to distract him while he’s thinking. He slips between the blankets of his bed and wraps himself up in them tightly, pressing his nose into the material. No scent of detergent. Sense of smell is first to go, followed by taste, hearing, and then finally sight.  
  
Jim closes his eyes and snuggles himself tighter into his cocoon. This is exactly what he needs.  
  
-  
  
Sebastian slips into the flat and presses the door closed quietly behind him. He sags against the door and lets out a huff. That last job was almost too close; another second off and he’d have been caught. That’s not so much a worry as Jim’s reaction if it were to happen. He’s still got a scar on his thigh where Jim buried a pen knife after finding out Sebastian missed a mark and failed a job. He shudders at the thought of Jim’s face when he’s angry. It makes his blood boil and his cock hard to watch Jim hiss and snarl and dole out discipline. At first, he’d thought Jim’s knife had been aimed at his cock as punishment for having an erection while being scolded, but Jim hadn’t even seemed to notice.  
  
He snaps out of that train of thought when he hears a shout from within the flat. He bolts down the hall in the direction of the shot, his hand instinctively pulling his pistol free of his waistband. The noises are coming from Jim’s bedroom and Sebastian presses his ear to the wood, listening in. The idea that Jim might be in there with someone, _fucking_ someone, simultaneously turns him on and infuriates him. As soon as he hears another shout, he knows it’s not pleasure that has Jim crying out. He pounds his fist against the door, calling out Jim’s name to no response. The doorknob doesn’t twist under his hand and he snarls, punching the door. Someone is hurting _his_ boss and needs to be stopped.

  
The pistol is leveled at the doorknob and it doesn’t survive the assault. Sebastian kicks the door open and rushes in, surprised to find that there’s no one in the room but Jim. Jim is on the bed, bare-chested and twisted in the sheets, moaning loudly and writhing against the bed and obscene way that makes Sebastian’s cock harden almost instantly.  
  
-  
  
Jim’s fingers claw at the bed under him and he twists, trying to escape the things in his head that won’t leave him alone. His mind is turning on him; instead of peace, he feels like his mind is moving too fast for him to actually comprehend. He can’t sort all of the thoughts racing across his mind that mingle with numbers and stars and make no sense whatsoever. His mind is overloading and he can’t handle the tidal wave of activity that’s crashing through his brain. He can’t escape it, doesn’t even know how long he’s been under, just knows that he’s trapped inside of his own head. He thinks he might even be screaming. He can hear his vocal chords vibrating, but he’s completely deaf to anything not in his head.  
  
There’s suddenly pressure against his cheek and he nearly sobs with relief. He doesn’t know who’s in his room or how they got in, but he’s never been so grateful. The hand slaps lightly at his face and Jim wants to beg for help, but the closest he can manage is turning in against the touch, focusing on it and trying to silence the noise  
  
The hand moves from his cheek and two fingers press against the pulse point on his neck. Jim takes a deep, shaky breath and forces himself to concentrate as much as he can on the sensation of being touched, needing any distraction from his thoughts.  
  
-  
  
Sebastian leans over Jim’s body, calling to him softly and trying to get a response that is more than just pressing into his touch. He glances around the room and spots the syringe on the bedside table. He snatches it up and reads the miniscule label, swearing profusely. He knows the drug, he’s been down to the labs where it’s been developed and knows that it means Jim is practically on lockdown inside of his own body. There’s nothing he can do but wait until it wears off.  
  
Although.  
  
Jim is completely helpless. The usually powerful, dominating, fear-inspiring crime lord is now reduced to a helpless, whimpering pile of flesh and it’s turning him on more than he’d like to admit. Jim has no perception of anything right now, wouldn’t be able to see him, hear him, or even smell his aftershave. If Sebastian were to do anything, Jim would never find out that it was him…  
  
Sebastian shakes his head. Too risky. Not worth it. Even if there is no other way that he’d ever be able to have Jim like this, naked and helpless under him.  
  
At that moment, Jim throws both of his arms wide, spreading himself across the bed, fingers digging into the sheets, back arched and head thrown back with a desperate, aching noise.  
  
Then again, this is an opportunity that he won’t be given again. He’d be a fool to pass it up.


	2. Chapter 2

The hands come back, tugging at the sheets and Jim is flooded with relief; he’s hopelessly tangled in them and they're scratching at his skin like thorns. The sheets come away and cool air hits his skin. _Fuck_ , even that hurts, scraping across his skin like ice. Even then, it’s still easier to bear than the noise in his head. The pain draws him back out of it like a lifeline, gives him a single thought to focus on.  
  
His brain gives a jolt when the hands turn to his skin again, stroking the sides of his thighs, thumbs tracing small circles over his skin. The hands don’t hurt; they feel like silk sliding over him even though he can feel rough calluses on them but he doesn’t like _where_ they’re touching and he jerks away. One hand clamps down on his thigh and the other lifts to the side of his face, fingers stroking along his jaw with soothing touches. Jim leans into it again and feels his throat vibrate with what he suspects is a whimper. He wants the touch, wants it _badly_ , anything to pull him free but he doesn’t want _this_.  
  
The hands keep touching, and he can’t even tell how many there really are because they are leaving trails of cool relief behind them. They feel like they are everywhere, sliding over every inch of his body, exploring him, _violating_ him , and every time he tries to pull away from their invasive touches, they come back up to his face, comforting with light touches, stroking through his hair, petting him and calming him like a wild animal.  
  
The lips comes next, dropping light kisses along his jawline and his neck, trailing down over his collarbone and to his shoulder, soft puffs of air spreading over his skin like a warm blanket. They comfort him, bite his skin, tease his nerves, taste his pulse point, brush his lips, try and distract him from the hand that slips between his legs and wraps around his half-hard cock.  
  
He tries to push the hand away but his own are rendered useless when both wrists are pulled together by one large hand and pinned above his head. The foreign body settles across his hips and he can feel bare thighs brushing against his own. The touches are torturous because they feel so _good_ and so _wrong_. He hates this, hates every inch of his body that arches up against the touch, hates his mind for devouring him, hates himself for being no needy and helpless and _pathetic_ , for _wanting_ this .  
  
-  
  
Sebastian moans with every press of his lips to Jim’s flushed skin, eyes half-lidded, memorizing every inch of Jim’s body, cataloguing every spot and freckle, the different pitches that Jim moans in for different places, the sensitive areas that make Jim’s breath hitch, all stored away for nights in the future when Sebastian is sleeping alone and dreaming of being wrapped up in Jim’s body.  
  
Jim looks so delectable spread out under him, hands trapped above his head, cock hard, mouth open to let tiny little gasps escape; Sebastian almost doesn’t know where to start because he wants every piece of Jim now. The only thing he doesn’t like are the way those stupidly big brown eyes are blank, staring distantly at some spot past Sebastian’s head; he’d give anything to see that fire, that _anger_ burning in Jim’s eyes, burning for _him_.

  
He shakes off the thought and refocuses on his task of deciding what to do. His decision his quick and he shifts up Jim’s body, straddling his chest and releasing his hands. They immediately move to shove at Sebastian’s hips, weakly pushing him away, but hands buried in Jim’s hair, lightly scratching and caressing his scalp calm him down again, pacifying him enough to become pliant.  
  
He slips one hand to the back of Jim’s head and urges him to lift with light touches, when he does, Sebastian rolls his hips forward slightly, nudging the tip of his cock against Jim’s damp lips. He makes a noise of displeasure and tries to jerk his head away, but a firm hand on his chin and a thumb massaging the corner of his jaw have him parting his lips and letting Sebastian’s cock slide in.  
  
-  
  
The weight on his tongue feels strange; he can’t taste anything, can only feel the heat of the man’s cock filling his mouth and the velvety smooth skin on his tongue. He knows how to do this though, knows how to bring a man pleasure with his lips and tongue and sometimes teeth. He can focus on this, force his mind to dedicate itself to the singular task of pleasuring him. His head bobs, guided by the hand in his hair, sliding his lips back and forth along the length, tongue dragging, twisting, teasing, teeth scraping lightly. It’s a strange feeling to not have any auditory feedback on his performance but the way the man’s hips jerk and force his cock farther in Jim’s mouth says enough.  
  
-  
  
The sight of Jim’s mouth stretched around his cock and sucking him down so beautifully is almost enough to make Sebastian come straight away. He forces himself to think about anything unappealing, which is difficult when the choked off moans Jim makes while his face is being fucked are echoing in the room.  
  
He reluctantly pulls away, which just makes it worse when Jim makes a pitiful noise and tries to pull him back while a thin stream of pre-come leaks down his chin. Sebastian shifts off of Jim and leans down, licking the trail clean and groaning against Jim’s lips, “ _fuck_ , you’re beautiful.”  
  
He doesn’t have to be afraid to say it, because Jim can’t hear a damn thing, which means Sebastian can sigh out how pretty Jim is, how beautiful, how sexy and fucking _perfect_ , and best of all, he can whisper terms of endearment into Jim’s skin and pretend that Jim is actually his for the keeping.

  
-

  
Jim can feel the lips moving against his own and wishes desperately that he knew what they were saying. He can’t tell anything about the body’s motivations, why it is touching him, why it placates him, why it doesn’t just hold him down and fuck him raw. Does it want to humiliate him, want to see him begging and pleading for more?  
  
His thoughts are interrupted when the hands move, the fingers, slicked with something cool, press between his legs, one trying to push into him. He resists again, doesn’t want to feel the fingers inside of him, touching him, taking him, but the lips are back, mouthing unheard words against his own and sucking lightly on his bottom lip. It calms the storm in his head to focus on them and he relaxes, sagging against the bed, legs falling apart.  
  
The fingers are gentle, pushing, twisting and stretching him carefully, slipping in and out and occasionally brushing _that spot_ that sets fire to his frantic thoughts and burns them away like petrol. He can’t tell how many fingers are pushing into them when they pull away and he doesn’t like how empty it leaves him feeling; it’s too much of an invitation for the thoughts to come back and fill the gap.  
  
The hands are on his hip and the body slides lower, pressing a kiss into the crook of Jim’s thigh before urging him to roll over onto his stomach. Jim does and pushes himself up onto his hands and knees, trying to get away from the sheets that scratch like sandpaper against his body. Tracing lightly, leaving bright trails of sensation crawling over his skin, the hands slide up his back, pressing old scars and fresh bruises, exploring and learning him. He shudders and fear spikes through his stomach about someone knowing him far too well.  
  
The body seems to sense his fear and leans forward, the lips are at the back of his neck, cool and soothing, relaxing him to a degree that Jim finds mildly annoying. The body is draped over him like a blanket of fire, heat and warmth and all encompassing. The body is much larger than his own and easily covers him, which his brain interprets in a fuzzy cross between frightening and comforting. Hands slide down his arms and cover his hands, locking their fingers together in a disconcertingly intimate gesture. The hips roll forward and _press_ and his lips burn when the air from his lungs is forced out over them.  
  
-  
  
Sebastian sinks his teeth into the tender skin of Jim’s neck when he pushes his cock inside, unable to resist pulling out another one of the wordless cries from Jim’s throat. Jim’s body is hot and _tight_ around him and Sebastian has to wonder how long it’s been since Jim has done this or hell, if he _has_ done this. That thought spurs Sebastian on even more than it has any right to. Jim may suck cock like a professional but there’s always the chance that he’s never actually been fucked. Sebastian pounds into Jim’s body harder than he should, rough and violent, the thought that he might be the only one to have ever had Jim like this, the only one to ever be _in_ Jim, driving him to try and claim Jim’s body for his own, biting and bruising the skin like personal signatures.  
  
The whimpers that come out of Jim’s throat sound more like pain than pleasure but he’s rocking back against Sebastian with each thrust and Jim’s fingers are clamping tight around his and that’s really all the encouragement that he needs.  
  
-  
  
Each snap of the hips drives Jim’s body forward and he hates himself a little more for how much he wants it to keep going. The feel of the cock sliding inside of him, _possessing_ him drives him mad, makes him want to curl away from the body and escape but the waves of pleasure that crash over him and silence everything else makes him push back, gasping and whimpering for more. He clings to the hands like a lifeline, anchoring himself in place while he focuses on the pleasure and tries to block out the other white noise.  
  
He thinks he might be on the edge of coming when the body pulls away from him and he knows, can _feel_ the anguished cry that escapes him when it does. The emptiness doesn’t last long before he’s roughly flipped over onto his back and the body is between his thighs, pushing back into him, and taking up the brutal pace again.

  
The lips are on his and they aren’t brushing anymore, they’re _kissing_ his, tongue slipping between his lips and exploring his mouth. The tongue dances around his own, teasing it with light touches and twisted movements and it’s _strange_. Jim hasn’t kissed anyone like this in years and it’s too intimate and too affectionate and it’s _wrong_ and this body shouldn’t be touching his like this, not when he hasn’t given it permission.  
  
One of the hands is digging into his hips and he can’t feel sharp explosions of pain flickering across his skin like broken glass, radiating outward from the cool fingers. The other drops down to his cock and _twists_ and it’s like an explosion of stars in Jim’s head and then _finally_ blissful silence.  
  
-  
  
Sebastian comes with a muffled shout against Jim’s lips, one hand stroking Jim through his orgasm, the other in a tight possessive grip on the smaller man’s hip. He draws in several slow, long breaths before gently nudging Jim’s cheek with his own. A stab of panic hits him squarely in the stomach when Jim’s head lolls to one side. He’s up on his knees quickly, checking Jim’s pulse point and stroking his cheek. He lets out a sigh of relief and his lip quirks in a self-satisfied grin when he realizes Jim has merely passed out. He’s rather proud of himself for that, actually.  
  
He takes advantage of Jim’s absence and slips off the bed, grabbing an old t-shirt from the floor and carefully cleaning come from between Jim’s legs with it. He likes the sight of his come leaking onto Jim’s thighs and it makes his cock twitch in a valiant effort to get hard again, but he doesn’t know how much longer Jim is going to stay drugged and he needs to get out soon. He tosses the shirt by the door, he’ll take it with him when he leaves, and turns his attention back to the bed where Jim is starting to stir and mumble quietly. The noises turn frantic quickly and Jim is scrabbling at the sheets again, knotting his hands and legs up in them and driving himself to further anxiety.  
  
He climbs back onto the bed, gently taking Jim’s hands in his and pulling them free of the sheets. He lowers his mouth to Jim’s and shushes him quietly, even knowing that Jim still can’t hear him. He keeps up light kisses and soft touches as he pulls the blankets away and Jim’s frantic noises trail off into quite whimpers.  
  
-  
  
For moments that stretch out far longer than he can count, the hands and touches are gone and Jim is sinking again, swept away under the barrage of his thoughts and unable to grab a single one to focus on. The sheets are solid ice under him, burning his skin and clawing at him, twisting around him and trapping him in place.  
  
The hands are back suddenly and Jim has never felt so much hatred and so much love for a single being at one time. He wants the hands to go away, to stop touching him and taking him and making him _feel_ things, but he wants them to stay, to keep him afloat, to make his body sing, to make him _feel_ things.  
  
The lips part and the tongue slips into his mouth again, welcomed eagerly by Jim’s. He sucks hungrily on the tongue, feeling the sandpaper-y top and the slick bottom and the taste of it, like warmth and whiskey.

  
Taste.  
  
 _Taste_. He can taste. His senses are starting to come back. He pulls his lips away and presses his face into the crook of the neck, inhaling deeply, pulling in the scent of aftershave. Sharp and clear and _familiar_ , but nothing he recognizes off the top of his head. He’s going to memorize every detail about the body that he can so that he can hunt it down and destroy it.  
  
It seems to realize what Jim is doing and suddenly jerks away, leaving Jim helpless and alone again but recovering quickly.  
  
-  
  
Sebastian practically throws himself off of the bed, snatching up his clothing as fast as he can. He pulls them on faster than he’s ever managed before and grabs his gun its abandoned spot. The soiled t-shirt is snatched up from the floor and Sebastian bolts down the hall and out the front door, not looking back for fear that Jim will be watching him with those sharp, angry eyes.  
  
-  
  
Jim slowly comes back out of his head and it’s like sinking back down into his own body. His vision comes back in a cloud of gray first that slowly trickles away and the sounds of the world come back like someone is slowly twisting up the volume knob. As soon as he’s able, Jim slides out of the bed and turns on all of the lights in the flat, turns on the radio and cranks it to its highest setting. He doesn’t ever want to be trapped in that place again.  
  
He climbs into the shower and twists the water as hot as he can and sinks down into the bottom. He can still feel the pull of his muscles where he’s been stretched and a brief inspection shows his skin is littered with bites and large hand shaped bruises. The sharp smell of the aftershave is still lingering in his nose and he doesn’t think he’s ever going to forget it.  
  
Not until he hunts the man down and makes him pay.


	3. Chapter 3

  
When Sebastian finally gets the nerve up to creep back into the flat, he finds Jim curled up in a tight ball on the sofa, watching the television with the volume cranked high enough to rattle the walls. He mutes the sound and looks up when Sebastian walks in.  
  
He wrinkles his nose and announces, “You smell terrible.”  
  
Sebastian shrugs and crosses the sitting room to the kitchen, “Messy kill. Had to take a chemical bath to get rid of all the evidence.” He silently hopes Jim doesn’t catch him in his lie and he makes a mental note to toss out his aftershave as soon as he gets the chance.   
  
“The kettle’s just boiling, Seb. Bring me a cup,” Jim calls and Sebastian sags with relief. He fixes two cups of tea, one black with enough sugar to bring down a diabetic, and one with milk only, and carries them back out .  
  
“How’s your day been? Planned anything particularly nasty?” He wants to keep everything as normal as possible, even if his mind is screeching at him to get away from Jim and far enough away that he can’t detect anything from Sebastian’s clothes, posture, whatever to find out what he did. Instead, he hands over Jim’s cup and drops into his arm chair to sip on his tea.  
  
“ Found a bullet in my room.”  
  
“Told you not to keep those in there.”  
  
“It’s from when my doorknob was shot off.”  
  
“Your door- the fuck happened to your door?”  
  
“You use a very distinct type of bullet, Sebastian.”  
  
His cup freezes halfway to his lips. “What do you mean?”  
  
Jim twists his cup around in his hands, still not drinking from it, “I mean that I put sedatives in the kettle.”   
  
Sebastian’s heart freezes in his chest and for a long moment he can’t move for fear. Jim’s eyes are locked on his and he’s never felt so genuinely fucking terrified for his life. Tigers have nothing on James Moriarty.  
  
As soon as his mind recovers, his cup is tossed aside and he’s up out of the chair. Jim doesn’t even move, just watches him bolt for the door. Sebastian’s legs give out before he’s halfway there and he stumbles before crashing to the floor, teeth rattling when his chin strikes the floorboards. He can taste blood sliding across his tongue and his head rolls uselessly to one side. He lays there silently, panting for air, and tries not to flinch when he can hear the floor creak under Jim’s approaching footsteps.   
  
Jim’s foot collides painfully with his rib and flips him over onto his back so that he can stare groggily up at Jim. The heel of Jim's foot grinds down against his sternum, making it hard to breathe and he bends forward, eyes dark and cold and filled with enough rage that Sebastian stomach knots with the fear that he’s very likely going to die. In the next few hours if he’s lucky, the next few days if he’s not. The eyes rake over him, cold and calculating, assessing him and finding him lacking.   
  
Jim bends down closer to him and his lips curls back in a snarl. “I’m going to make you _hurt_ , Moran.”


	4. Chapter 4

  
When Sebastian's brain claws its way back into consciousness, he doesn’t immediately open his eyes. Years of training have ingrained the instinct to identify his surroundings before giving away the fact that he’s awake.  
  
Hands tied. Above his head. Rope, sturdy, tight, no breaking. Hooked to ceiling? Clothing. Shirt, missing. No shoes, no socks. Trousers intact.  
  
His train of thought is abruptly slammed to a halt when Jim’s palm collides with his cheek as he snarls, “I know you’re awake, open your fucking eyes.”  
  
Sebastian rolls his head slowly, recovering from the force of the strike and tentatively opening his eyes. He’s strung up in their sitting room, his hands fastened to a hook in the ceiling he’d once assumed was for some sort of light fixture. His eyes flit about the room before landing on Jim.  
  
He never fails to be impressed with the way that Jim can be such an imposing figure despite his diminutive stature. Even at nearly a head shorter than Sebastian, the hard expression cut into Jim’s face makes him want to curl in on himself and protect his soft spots. This isn’t even Jim right now, this is _Moriarty_ and there’s a reason that he’s at the top of the food chain in the underworld.  
  
“Enjoying yourself?” Jim’s voice is low and steady, doesn’t give away any emotions whatsoever. He really does know better but Sebastian can’t bite back the sarcastic retort.  
  
“I’m fine, just hanging around.” He expected the sharp physical retaliation but he didn’t pay attention and the slash of the knife across his bare chest is a painful surprise that causes him to cry out and jerk back. His skin splits easily under the blade and it burns with a white hot intensity that makes Sebastian suspect the knife is treated with some concoction of Jim’s.  
  
“You really can’t control your stupid impulses can you, Moran?” Jim’s voice doesn’t drop the dull, apathetic tone as he circles around behind him. Sebastian’s spine stiffens. He doesn’t like not being able to see where the next attack is coming from; he feels too defenseless, even knowing that seeing isn’t going to save his life at all. “You’re just another dumb animal motivated by instincts.” If it were anyone but Jim, he would almost take that tone as disappointed. “You’re _disgusting_.”  
  
The next slash strikes across the back of his calf and, for a moment, his legs gives out under him, leaving him supported only by the rope around his wrists. The pain hits him twice over, once from his leg and again from feeling like his arms have almost been pulled from their sockets. He manages to get his good leg under himself again and he can feel the warm gush of blood sliding down his leg and soaking into his trousers.  
  
Less than five minutes into the torture session that’s probably going to end his life and Sebastian is already rock hard from the bright sparks of pain sending messages up to his brain. He’s momentarily glad that Jim is behind him and can’t see the tenting of his trousers or the way he bites his lip to stop himself from moaning.  
  
There’s an animalistic growl behind him and the knife is cutting into his skin again, a whirlwind of short, sharp cuts and long dragging ones crisscrossing his back and making him twist against his restraints, teeth clenched, and breaths coming in short hisses of air.  
  
The knife drops away and there’s another angry screech. The knife goes flying past Sebastian’s head and buries itself in the wall of the sitting room. He sags heavily, letting his wrists take the bulk of his weight. He can feel warm rivulets of blood sliding down his back and pooling above his waistband. He can’t tell how many marks Jim has dug into his skin but his entire back feels like it’s been set on fire, each gash rippling out, colliding with, rippling into, magnifying every other one.

  
Jim’s fingers are suddenly digging into his shoulders and dragging down his back, scratching any unmarked flesh and pressing into wounds, tearing them open, malicious and rage-fueled. Sebastian’s mind takes the route it always does where Jim is concerned and suddenly all he can think about is licking blood from Jim’s lips, smearing it between them, and fucking Jim into the mattress so hard that the walls rattle and Jim screams for _him_ and tears at his back in desperation for more.  
  
He bites down hard on his tongue but it isn’t enough to stop the aching moan that rumbles up from his chest. The fingers stop moving and Jim is suddenly right in front of him, teeth bared in a disgusted sneer.  
  
His hands are covered with a thick layer of Sebastian’s blood that he removes by wiping them on Sebastian’s trousers, leaving bright red handprints smeared across his thighs, “Is sex the only thing that ever crosses your mind?” Jim grabs Sebastian’s cock and _squeezes_. His brain responds with a garbled message of _fuckpaingoodmore!_ and he doesn’t think before he responds.  
  
“Sex and violence.”  
  
Jim is vicious and slaps him again, this time catching the skin of Sebastian’s cheek under his nails and tearing strips of it away. Sebastian gasps in pain and a nearly hysterical laugh bubbles up from his chest, “Awfully worked up, aren’t you?” he leans forward into Jim’s space, as far as the restraints will allow, “Angry and shocked. Don’t know why, you didn’t exactly hire me for my morals to begin with.” He doesn’t know why he’s doing it, driving Jim on, making him angrier. All he knows is that he wants to taste the skin that reddens when Jim is flushed with rage and that he constantly wants Jim to hurt him just a little bit more.  
  
“I should have left you where I found you, living in the underbelly of the city, grimy, underfed, and looking for the answers to all of your problems in the bottom of a bottle of whiskey.” He grips Sebastian’s face tightly, fingers digging into the claw marks, “I _saved_ you.” He shoves Sebastian’s head to one side and steps away, cursing under his breath, “I fixed you, repaired you, made you _better_. I made you into someone to be feared and respected. And you _betrayed_ me.” Jim puts his entire body weight behind the punch to Sebastian’s abdomen. Sebastian grunts in pain and tries to curl in, the motion on pulling at the wounds on his back and making the pain even worse.  
  
“Any attempt at self defense before I gut you?” Jim’s fingernails scratch across his stomach as though planning the best spot to cut him open and let his organs spill out.  
  
He knows he’s going to die at Jim’s hand, has always known that really, but he won’t go down begging for his life. Instead, he smirks and tilts his chin up defiantly, meeting Jim’s eyes, “Couldn’t help it. You just looked so pretty all helpless and needy.”  
  
That one earns him another punch, this one across his face, and it makes Sebastian regret ever deciding that Jim needed to learn how to defend himself in a fight. He doesn’t think his nose is broken, but he can feel the wet slide of blood on his upper lip, trickling downward.  
  
Jim is practically shaking, his fists clenched at his sides, jaw clenched and teeth bared in an unvoiced snarl. He can’t recall the last time he saw Jim so unsettled and he wishes his mind would focus more on the fact that he should be afraid than the fact that he’s aroused by Jim coming unhinged. Every inch of his body is screaming out in pain and he’s harder than he’s ever been before.  
  
“Sex and violence, is it then?” Jim draws a deep breath and the moment of unspeakable rage passes. He wanders away and paws through the pile of clothing that had been stripped from Sebastian. It doesn’t take him long to pull the shoulder holster free of the tangle and take the pistol in hand, “I think we’ll be able to find a suitable punishment for you.”


	5. Chapter 5

Jim handles the gun with all the carelessness that a weapon doesn’t deserve. It’s a simple single action revolver and Jim cocks the hammer back as he crosses back to Sebastian. He grabs Sebastian’s jaw in a vice-like grip and squeezes, “Open now.”  
  
He forces Sebastian to open his mouth despite his struggling. He knows the gun is loaded and doesn’t want it anywhere near his mouth. He twists his head away but Jim’s grip is firm and he forces the barrel past his lips. The metal is cold and solid in his mouth and he doesn’t like the way having his mouth wrapped around it makes his cock throb. This is a dangerous weapon that should be treated with respect and not used carelessly but his mind hones in on what a position of disadvantage it puts him at to Jim and overrides his concern.  
  
“Bite down. Don’t let go of it.” Jim snaps and presses the gun as far back as he can. Sebastian responds with a low whine but seals his lips around it and clamps down with his teeth. “Don’t move. I’ll be back.” Jim lets go and the noise Sebastian makes is nearly pitiful, his grip on the gun tightens, fearing that it might fall and discharge in his direction.   
  
Jim isn’t gone for long but it feels like an eternity to Sebastian. When he returns, the objects in his hands nearly make Sebastian’s heart stop. Jim drops the leash to the ground and steps forward with the heavy leather collar; Sebastian can’t quite stop his tongue from teasing the barrel of the gun and imagining it’s Jim’s cock, heavy and hard in his mouth.  
  
Jim fastens the collar around his neck without a word and Sebastian finds the weight of it oddly comforting. There’s no warning when Jim roughly yanks the gun free of his mouth and fires it at the hook holding Sebastian upright. The rope snaps, sending Sebastian tumbling unexpectedly to the floor. He lands elbows first and his forehead crashes against the wood. He doesn’t have time to recover before Jim’s foot becomes painfully intimate with his ribs and knocks him over. Jim snatches up the leash from the ground and hooks it easily to the ring on the front of Sebastian’s collar before yanking on the leash.  
  
Sebastian can’t get his arms to support him with his wrists still bound and he’s forced to let the leash lead him, pulling him into an awkward position halfway upright, back arched and head tilted back. Another sharp jerk and Sebastian is pulled forward entirely, nearly landing on his face again. Jim drags him forward until Jim is close enough to the sofa to drop down onto it, spreading his legs and yanking Sebastian between them.  
  
“Get on your knees.” Jim’s voice sends shivers racing down his spine. It’s cold and detached and so very businesslike that Sebastian imagines for a moment that he’s one of the victims Jim likes to play with when he’s in a mood. He’s always been jealous of anyone who got more of Jim’s attention than him. He adjusts his limbs to fold under him properly so that he can get to his knees and he tilts his head up, watching Jim’s face for any sign of approval. His face is a blank mask and a knot in Sebastian’s stomach tightens because he wants so desperately for Jim to want him the way he wants Jim.   
  
The barrel of the gun is against his temple, a light pressure with a heavy threat behind it. “If you like sex and violence so much, then you’re going to suck me off. Do anything I don’t like and I’ll paint the floor with your useless little brain, do you understand me?” Sebastian nods and practically dives forward, eagerly nuzzling against the man’s cock through his pants, mouthing and groaning against the material. The butt of the pistol slams against his head and Jim snarls above him, “Not until I say.” While Sebastian’s head swims dizzyingly, Jim unbuttons his trousers and shoves them down, freeing his hardened cock. He hisses slightly as the cool air hits his overheated skin and he grabs the back of Sebastian’s head by his hair and pulls him forward, “Now.”

  
Sebastian doesn’t hesitate before pushing back in, sloppy and artless but eager and desperate to please. It’s more difficult when he can’t use his hands and he can feel smears of pre-come on his cheek from his first attempts to draw Jim’s cock into his mouth. When he finally succeeds, he lets out a self-satisfied moan and the vibrations of it draw an answering response from Jim’s throat. It spurs Sebastian on and he sucks harder, lips, tongue and teeth working together, trying to encourage anymore approval from Jim. All he gets is the short hitches in Jim’s breathing pattern, the hand tightening in his hair, the slight roll of Jim’s hips, and, most importantly, he doesn’t get his skull shattered on the floor.   
  
He loses himself inside of his head, focused entirely on Jim and pleasure Jim and nothing else matters but the cock in his mouth and the hand in his hair. He’s jarred from the sensation when Jim shoves him back yet again, this time completely knocking him back onto his arse, complete with a solid kick to his chest.   
  
Jim snarls, teeth gnashing between muttered curses. He shoves his erection back into his trousers and fastens them up before grabbing up the leash against the dragging Sebastian across the floor, the man unable to even crawl with his hands still bound and his legs unable to get a solid grip on the floor under him for all the growing puddles of spilled blood.   
  
“It’s not the fucking-“ Jim cuts himself off with a snarl, “not fucking good enough.” Sebastian’s heart sinks. It may be the last night he’s ever going to see, but that makes it all the more critical that he be good enough for Jim. That’s all he wants, Jim’s attention and approval, and to be good enough to keep it. He’s tired of Jim’s attention sliding over him, of Jim ignoring him, of Jim not _wanting_ him. It might not be such a bad thing when Jim kills him after this. Like being put out of his misery.  
  
Jim drags him down the hall, still slipping and fumbling, and into bedroom. His fingers curl under the collar and he pulls Sebastian up, shoving him forward to land on the crumpled sheets. Sebastian presses his face into the wrinkled material; they still smell like sex and sweat from Sebastian fucking Jim here earlier.   
  
The end of his leash is lashed around the slats of the headboard, trying him securely into place. Jim’s fingers grasp his chin and force his eyes up to meet Jim’s. “I’m going to fuck you like the stupid animal that you are.”


	6. Chapter 6

The length of the leash gives him room to maneuver still and Jim forces Sebastian over onto his back. His fingers make quick work of Sebastian’s button and zip and he yanks the trousers down and off with perfunctory motions. His head tilts to one side, watching Sebastian’s cock, achingly hard and laying against his stomach, flushed dark with blood.   
  
“You’re moments away from coming aren’t you?” He sneers, lip curling back over his teeth, “That won’t do.” He steps away from the bed and heads for his wardrobe, calling over his shoulder, “And don’t move.” He pokes around in the bottom for a few moments before he returns with the long thin strap of leather. When he grabs Sebastian’s cock roughly to affix that cock ring, Sebastian is forced to twist his head to one side and sink his teeth into his arm trying not to come from the thought of Jim touching his cock alone. The strap is looped expertly behind his balls and over his cock, held in place by small metal snaps.   
  
His fingers are hard and rough when they grip Sebastian’s hip and flip him back over to his stomach. Sebastian winces as the sheets cling to his back and pull at the still sluggishly bleeding wounds. His hands continue to work Sebastian into the proper position easily, pulling him up to a kneeling position and moving his bound hands to the headboard for support. He doesn’t say anything as he manhandles Sebastian’s pliant body, just works silently with a vacant, detached look on his face.   
  
Jim disappears from where Sebastian’s line of sight and the bed dips behind him. Jim’s bare chest is suddenly against his back and three fingers are against his lips; he doesn’t mistake the motion and quickly pulls them into his mouth, sucking and licking them, tongue sliding over them and between them, getting them well slicked. Jim isn’t going to give him the courtesy of lube and he’s frankly surprised he’s getting fingers first, but he’s going to take advantage of the fact and do his best to make it easier.   
  
They’re yanked from his mouth and shoved into his body without pretense, no teasing, no gradual build up, just three fingers rammed into him. He screams loudly and drops his head down, reflexively trying to pull away from the burning pain. Jim’s other hand grips his hip tightly and tries to pin him into place, but he isn’t strong enough to control Sebastian’s thrash of pain. Instead, Jim retaliates by releasing his hip and pressing his fingers deep into one of the wounds on his back. Sebastian howls in pain and stops thrashing, fighting every instinct.  
  
Jim pulls his bloodied fingers free and licks them slowly, “Good boy. Now you don’t move again unless I say, got it?”  
  
His head bobbles slightly, “Yes, Jim.”  
  
The fingers are back, clawing his back open and Sebastian drops his head farther, sinking his teeth into one of Jim’s pillows, fighting the scream, “You don’t call me that anymore. If you address me at all, it will be as sir, master, or Moriarty. You don’t call me Jim, you lost that.”  
  
His whole body shivers and he nods, mumbling around the pillow, “Yes, sir.” His muscles tense, fearing Jim’s fingers again. He’s small and doesn’t have sheer strength on Sebastian but he’s a master of finding weak spots and digging into them, manipulating the circumstances to benefit himself. He’s pushing Sebastian’s brain past the point where it interprets pain as pleasure and right into _painhurtstop_.   
  
The fingers that are inside him shift and he clenches his eyes shut, pushing down the whimper that wants to come out. He doesn’t want to show any more weakness for Jim to exploit; it’s like baring your neck for a rabid wolf. They move in him, pressing and sliding, brushing his prostate over and over. Jim isn’t doing it for his pleasure; he’s deliberately driving Sebastian to over-stimulation, the shocks of what should be orgasmic pleasure are striking across his skin like electricity, hot and burning pain. When he finally pulls his fingers free, Sebastian very nearly sobs, his whole body shaking, dreading whatever Jim wants next.

  
To his surprise, hands reach past his shoulders and pull the knot that binds his hands undone, “Spread your hands farther apart, brace yourself.” He does as he’s told and keeps his eyes closed, silently wishing, for the first time, that Jim would grow bored of him and move on. Jim seems to delight in surprising him and instead of whatever Sebastian is expecting, he slides his hands up Sebastian’s arms until they cover his hands and he nuzzles his face against Sebastian’s neck.  
  
Sebastian doesn’t know how to this suddenly affectionate gesture and doesn’t move, afraid to send Jim back to torturing him. Jim brushes light kisses along his neck and Sebastian shudders. This is good. This is _very_ good.   
  
“This is what you want, isn’t it?” Jim’s voice is a quiet whisper against his skin, “You want me like this. Touching you and kissing you like a lover.” When Sebastian doesn’t reply, he nips him lightly, “Answer me.”  
  
“Yes. _God, yes_.” Jim’s mouth brushes his jaw, encourages him to turn and meet his mouth. His tongue slips between Sebastian’s lips and he moans loudly, sucking eagerly on Jim’s tongue. This, _this_ is what he wants.   
  
The fingers over his own tighten suddenly, fingernails digging into the tender spots between each one and Jim bites down hard on his tongue. Sebastian jerks away with a yelp and the hard look has returned to Jim’s face, “Too fucking bad, Moran. That’s not what you get.” His hips drive forward and push his cock into Sebastian’s barely prepared body. There’s hardly enough slick and it _hurts_. Sebastian throws back his head and howls, eyes screwed shut and trying to block out Jim’s voice, hissing in his ear, “You don’t get it because you’re _disgusting_ , Moran. You’re a disgusting fucking animal.” His hips continue to slam forward, driving Sebastian forward, slamming the headboard repeatedly into the wall.   
  
Sebastian hates himself, hates what he did to Jim, what he’s doing right now, hates that his cock is still hard because some part of his brain is still celebrating Jim giving him _any_ sort of attention. The voice at his ear doesn’t stop either, insults sliding between his teeth and assaulting Sebastian’s mind like a knife, “You’re worthless. Not worth my fucking time, don’t know why I bother to keep you around, should have let you die like the dog you are.” They come out in a steady stream, thoughts jumping from one to the next without any sort of pattern except for Jim trying to list every way in which he despises the fact that Sebastian is here and alive.  
  
When he comes, his fingers digging more bruises into Sebastian’s his, he doesn’t shout or moan, just hisses “ _I hate you!_ ” against his shoulder and it feels like being gutted.   
  
As soon as Jim is done, Sebastian drops limply against the bed, no longer able to hold himself up. He winces and makes a small sound when he hits the bed, his painfully hard cock trapped underneath him. He whines quietly from the back of his throat and shifts his hips, trying to get enough friction on his cock to come despite the ring, desperately wanting to alleviate the ache.   
  
Jim’s fingers grip his hair painfully tight and force his head backwards, as he leans into to hiss in Sebastian’s ear, “You’re not allowed to do that. You don’t get to get off on this. This is for _my_ pleasure and mine alone, do you understand me?” Sebastian freezes and whimpers quietly, saying nothing. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” the laugh that comes from Jim is dark and hollow, “Me, willingly crawling into bed with you? You’re getting it, then. I’m going to make you my personal fuck toy to use and abuse at my leisure and I don’t give a _damn_ if you like it or not. I’ll have you when and where and how I want you and you don’t get to tell me no. And if,” his fingers dig into Sebastian’s scalp and pull harder, “you so much as think about kissing me or about touching me without permission, I’ll tear you apart. I will break every bone in your body and shred you into so many pieces that not even a masochistic fuck like you could get off on it. Are we clear?”   
  
Sebastian swallows thickly, as best his position allows, “Crystal.”

  
The collar is unhooked from the leash and he shoves Sebastian to one side, knocking him to the floor, “Get out of my bed and out of my sight.” Sebastian doesn’t move for a moment and Jim can’t deny what a pretty picture he makes, arms and legs and back smeared with blood, streaks of white leaking down his thighs. He briefly entertains the notion of what it would be like if this was all just play and he could pull Sebastian back up on the bed, lick him clean, and patch him up. He forcefully pushes the thought the back of his mind and seals it away. That is never going to be an option. Not anymore. Sebastian guaranteed that.  
  
-  
  
On the floor, Sebastian struggles to make his body obey and rise off the floor. Every inch of him is in agony and not even his brain can translate it into pleasure anymore. His stomach twists itself into knots and his heart aches. This isn’t what he wanted at all. He wanted to have Jim, to hold him in his arms, to stroke his fingers across his skin, to kiss him, to _love_ him. He didn’t want _this_. He gets his arms underneath himself and pushes up; his arms tremble badly and he doesn’t know if he’ll even be able to stand. Might be too much blood loss. He grabs the bedside table with slippery fingers and carefully pulls himself up, not looking back at Jim. He doesn’t want to see it. Doesn’t want to see Jim sprawled naked on the bed, covered in blood and looking thoroughly debauched, not with that sadistic and angry look on his face that speaks of nothing but seething hatred for Sebastian. He’s ruined it, ruined everything. It was hell to have to stand at Jim’s side, unable to touch him, but _this_. He’s trapped himself in a life of being touched by Jim with nothing but anger, punishment, rage, _disgust_ and no way to touch back, no way to show Jim how he feels and thinks and _wants_. This is so much worse than anything he’s suffered through before.   
  
He manages to get to his feet and stumbles for the door, leaving bloody footprints staining the floor. He fumbles with the doorknob, his fingers shake too much to make it easy, before he slips out the door and pulls it closed behind him. He takes a single step forward before his legs give out again and he drops to the floor. He doesn’t even try to get back up, just lets his body drop to one side and curls into a ball before unconsciousness sweeps over him and drowns him in darkness.  
  
-  
  
After Sebastian pulls the door closed, Jim grabs the nearest object, his alarm clock, and hurls it across the room with an enraged shout. It shatters against the far wall and the pieces scatter across the room noisily. Before the bits even stop moving, he’s off the bed and grabbing the next thing, a glass figure nicked from British Museum on a whim and it follows the clock’s path, bursting into broken shards against the wall. He spins around, looking for the next object to fall prey to his temper and stops, staring at the bed.  
  
The sheets are ruined, and likely the mattress under it, stained dark with too much blood. It fuels his sparking temper and he digs through his side table, retrieving a new knife which he takes to the bed, slashing and shredding and destroying the material, tearing the sheets to ribbons and ripping the stuffing from the pillows and mattress.   
  
He carries on for several minutes before he realizes what he’s doing and when he does, he lets the knife fall to the ground and drops his head into his hands, giggling hysterically. He’s destroying his bed because of one of his fucking employees. They weren’t worth it. _People_ weren’t worth this. Driving him to react and feel so much, too much at once.

  
He giggles again and shakes his head. To think, he’d entertained the possibility of actually being in a relationship with one of _them_. One of the normal, boring people of the world. He’d put a lot of thought into it; it had to be someone he’d trust not to murder him while he was laid bare and distracted, someone who didn’t care about the ways he spent his nights and days. He’d had one picked out an everything. And then _he_ fucking ruined it. Destroyed all of Jim’s plan with his fucking carelessness and inability to control himself. Now all he’s got is a toy to play with until it breaks. It was a foolish idea, anyway.  
  
Jim curls himself into a ball in the middle of the ruined bed and pulls what’s left of the sheets up over his shoulder. There’s really too much blood on them. Jim vaguely wonders how much blood the human body can hold and how much is on his sheets before he lets exhaustion take over and pull him under.


End file.
